


The Last Heretics

by Brenda



Series: Brooklyn Reclaimed [2]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Hand Jobs, M/M, Reunion Sex, World's Angstiest Blowjob (but it's alright in the end)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They were so close he could feel the quick beat of Steve's heart, feel the energy crackling through him like a storm.  Everything he wanted, everything he'd thought he'd lost, was right here, finally his for the taking.</i>
</p>
<p>Or:</p>
<p>Bucky gets released from SHIELD custody and he and Steve finally get some time alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Heretics

**Author's Note:**

> Borrows from the Captain America: Winter Soldier comics and the MCU. Set post-Winter Soldier. (No spoilers for Cap2.)

Bucky stood at attention when the doctor came into the room, her low heels clicking decisively across the tiles. This wasn't one of their scheduled visits, but he'd learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected, especially where SHIELD was concerned.

"Doc," he said in greeting, with a respectful incline of his head.

"Sergeant," she replied, and even though she said nothing else, and didn't so much as move another muscle, Bucky knew why she was there.

This was it. The day had finally come. SHIELD was cutting him loose and setting him back out into the world again, had deemed him safe. Or at the very least, no longer a threat to national security. For the first time in months, he'd get to breathe free air, feel the wind on his face, he'd have privacy...

"Does Steve know?" It was his first – and only – thought.

She smiled, and nodded. "He's waiting for you at his place. He didn't want to overwhelm you during your outtake evaluation."

"Of course not," Bucky muttered. Silly bastard was far too noble for his own good.

"And, just to clear up any confusion, while we are releasing you from custody, we're not releasing you from SHIELD altogether. Director Fury's taken a personal interest in you."

Then they must still want him on a short leash, just in case, which was fine with him. The shorter the better, in fact. Hell, if they wanted to attach an ankle monitor or a GPS chip in his arm, he wouldn't blame them. (For all he knew, Stark had done exactly that when he'd upgraded Bucky's arm.) "Understood."

"And the Captain has made it clear that he will personally make sure you have everything you need."

"So...I'm reporting to Steve?"

"In a manner of speaking, but yes. Although, if you prefer someone else –"

"No." He shook his head for emphasis. "Steve's fine."

Hell, Steve was all he wanted right now. 

The doctor smiled softly, like she knew what he was thinking. She had one of those kind, expressive faces – the type that invited exchanging confidences, spilling secrets better off buried. Bucky tried not to think of all the ways he could kill or incapacitate her using only the barrettes holding her hair back. He was used to quelling the cold, calculating assassin that lurked within his head.

"Well, then, I guess we're all set. Are you ready?"

He summoned what he hoped was an actual smile. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"And remember, if the nightmares or memories get to be too much, or if you feel overwhelmed or –"

"I'll call," he said, even though they both knew he was lying. Sure, he'd show up for his mandated appointments, do what was required of him, but he'd had the dreams and flashbacks and night tremors for decades now. He'd been living with blank spots in his memories and reining in his more vicious impulses, with the screams of the dying echoing in his ears and the guilt eating away at his soul, for so long that he wasn't sure what he'd do without them. He wasn't gonna atone for his past by talking out his feelings.

The only way he was gonna move past this was by getting out there and doing some good, following Cap's example. He may never get back what he'd lost, and he would never have the right to call himself a good man again, but for Steve's sake, he'd do his best.

He'd let Steve down once, and all of history had suffered the consequences. But, here and now, he finally had a chance to tip the scales in the other direction. He'd take it with both hands and run with it.

"The Captain has my number," Doc was saying, almost like she was reading his thoughts. "And I've told him not to hesitate to call me."

"That's dirty pool, you know that."

"We all want the same thing, Sergeant. Which is for you to get better."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and gave her a quick two-fingered salute, pairing it with his most rakish grin. Out of all the shrinks he could have been saddled with, she wasn't so bad.

"Go on," she replied, shaking her head. "Get out of here before you burst. There's a car waiting to take you to the Captain's."

"Thank you," he said, and giving in to impulse, pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before exiting. He didn't look back. There was nothing in this room he wanted to take with him.

***

The ride to Steve's place in Brooklyn (of _course_ he'd settled back in Brooklyn, Bucky thought – the stubborn, loyal idiot probably still rooted for the Dodgers, even though they'd flown the coop to L.A. almost sixty years ago) was in turns the shortest and longest trip of Bucky's life. He gazed out of the window at the streets, making note of the changes time had wrought. Crowds of people still bustled along busy sidewalks, taxis still honked and swerved through traffic like they all had a death wish, and the energy pulsing from every corner was still exactly the same. Only the buildings seemed to have changed.

Last time he'd been in New York, he hadn't even known _why_ he was there. He just remembered having an ephemeral feeling he couldn't shake, compelling him north, a homing beacon he couldn't explain. But now, now he knew why it was he'd defied orders and gone rogue, and – most importantly – now he knew what he'd been trying to get back to.

But now that everything (and everyone) he'd come back for was within his grasp, he felt as dazed and aimless as he had during those lost two weeks back in '73.

When the car stopped outside a nondescript building on the riverfront, he didn't move. The place looked like an abandoned factory or textile mill, solid brick and unassuming and completely unpretentious, no hint of what was on the other side of the wall. Everything about it had Steve written all over it. And somewhere, behind the high glass windows, Steve was waiting to greet him, to (hopefully) make good on all the silent promises they'd made to each other during the long, hard months of his self-imposed incarceration.

Bucky's legs refused to work.

"Sir?" One of the SHIELD agents twisted in his seat, gave Bucky a concerned look. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's, uh..." He flicked his tongue across parched lips, offered a small smile. He could still fake it with the best of them. "Thanks for the lift."

"Anytime, sir. It was an honor to meet you," the other agent added, with something that looked far too much like hero worship in his gaze.

An honor. If only they knew...

He had no right to anyone's admiration. Not after everything he'd done. But destroying this kid's ideal of Bucky Barnes, Captain America's most trusted friend and sidekick, wasn't gonna do a damn thing to bring those days back, and it wouldn't give Bucky any peace. It was better – and far more merciful – to let the guy keep his illusions as long as he could.

God knew life – not to mention the job the agent chosen – would strip them from him soon enough.

"See you around," Bucky offered, and forced himself to move. He shut the car door behind him, didn't even acknowledge as it drove off. Just stared up at the building, and tried to catch his breath. 

If he had any goddamn sense, he'd melt into the shadows and get the hell out of New York. He might not be the Winter Soldier anymore, but he still knew how to disappear, how to stay off the grid. He'd already done it for six months, had managed just fine on his own, before the ache in the center of his heart where Steve had always resided had gotten too big, and he'd reached out, allowed Steve to convince him to turn himself in, to make sure there was nothing left of Lukin rattling around in his head. There was nothing stopping him from doing it again, leaving everything behind, and living a simple life somewhere far away, far enough so his past couldn't spill over and contaminate everything it touched.

Nothing, of course, except for those silent promises, and the fact that he never did have much sense where Steve Rogers was concerned.

Then the front door opened and Steve stepped out, wearing a bright blue t-shirt that stretched across his impressive chest and a pair of jeans that seemed molded to his thighs, and it was _still_ odd, even after all this time, to see him like this. Tall and built and perfect, with the body to finally match his courage and that oversized sense of determination to right all the wrongs of the world.

"You're late," Steve smiled, that quirky little half-grin that dropped the years from his face, reminded Bucky of the skinny, tenacious kid he'd rescued in that back alley so many years ago – the one with more bravado than sense. 

And seeing it, the nerves and second thoughts melted away as if they'd never been. He was finally back where he belonged – a shadow orbiting around Steve's sun. "That's all the greeting I get?"

Steve straightened, raked a heated gaze over him, the look stripping him from the inside out. "Yeah, unless you, uh, you wanna do this on the sidewalk, because I'm fine with it if you do –"

"No, not really," Bucky said, and stalked forward, crowded into Steve's space and backed him up until they were in the cool interior of the entryway. He kicked the door shut behind him and shuddered as Steve slid a hand through his hair. They were so close he could feel the quick beat of Steve's heart, feel the energy crackling through him like a storm. Everything he wanted, everything he'd thought he'd lost, was right here, finally his for the taking.

"Hey, punk," Steve said, and smiled, wide and full and fond, the warmth of it seeping into Bucky's very being.

He didn't even try to stop the return grin. "Hey yourself, cowboy," he replied, and the next moment, they were kissing, nice and easy and light, like they had all the time in the world. Like this was just another kiss among thousands, no different than all the others they'd shared over the years. They kissed like no time at all had passed since they'd done this, like they were back in their crappy one-room apartment before the War, like they were in the small barracks room they'd shared in London in 1944, and on battlefields across France, Poland, Germany, Italy – a united front against all comers at the end of a hard-won fight or the end of a long day. They kissed like they did back when they'd been so sure there would always be a tomorrow, just two dumb fellas who'd spent a hard-scrabble lifetime with only each other to count on, secure in the knowledge that they'd always be side by side no matter what.

Steve still tasted exactly the same, like sticky cotton candy and homemade apple pie, like the best parts of summer evenings in New York. He still smelled like sweat and sunshine and leather, Steve all over, pure and clean and perfect. And each kiss carried the same punch as Morita's moonshine, left Bucky feeling drunk and dizzy in its wake. He delved deeper, sought oblivion and safety in every slide of Steve's lips, the light brush of Steve's tongue against his, the way they still slotted together, two halves of a puzzle torn asunder and finally _finally_ made whole.

"Welcome home, Buck," Steve murmured, smiling into the next kiss, and Bucky muttered something indistinct in reply, changed the angle of his lips, frantic for more, for anything he could get. He slid his hands over Steve's shirt, intending to toss it aside and finally get his hands on bare skin, but Steve batted his hands away and twisted out of his arms.

"Not yet, let me just..." Steve trailed off, then he sank gracefully to his knees, and reached for Bucky's belt buckle.

Bucky's breath caught in his lungs. He felt paralyzed all over again. There was no way Steve was getting ready to...that he wanted...

"Steve, no." 

He couldn't let Steve do this. He couldn't bear to see Steve like this. The best and bravest and truest man he'd ever known shouldn't kneel for anyone – especially not for a man like him. A mass murderer, an assassin, a destroyer of lives, a bully without conscience. The very antithesis of everything Steve stood for, a shattered negative image of everything Steve had spent his entire life fighting against. Bucky's very soul was drowning red with blood. He couldn't taint Steve with that brush. "You shouldn't – I'm not –"

Steve just blinked up at him, calm and unflappable and so trusting it broke something deep in Bucky's heart. "Let me do this for you. Let me do this for _both_ of us."

Bucky closed his eyes. His fingers spasmed against his thighs. Heat crawled up his spine, settled at the base of his neck. "I can't –"

He wasn't worthy of this. He never expected Steve would want something so intimate – never even dreamed about it late at night, as close to solitude as he ever got while in his cell. At most, he'd thought there would be a fast, sloppy handjob or he'd go to his hands and knees, let Steve have him, let Steve reassert his control. But not _this_.

A light tap on the side of his knee drew his attention back to Steve. Who was still kneeling before him, supplicant, patient – _красавец_. The most beautiful and dangerous thing Bucky had ever seen, with weapons at his disposal that easily overpowered any defense Bucky might have. The Army had made Bucky a soldier, the Howlin' Commandos had honed his skills to a razor sharp edge, and the Red Room had turned him into a weapon of mass destruction, but none of his training or tactical proficiency was a match for the earnestness in Steve's small smile or the bright light shining out of pure blue eyes.

"I _want_ this." Steve's hands remained completely still, but Bucky could feel how much it was costing Steve not to move. "I need it...we both need it. I'll beg if I have to, Buck. Ple –"

"Fine," Bucky bit out, quick and sharp. He couldn't have that word hanging in the air between them. "Just don't say – I don't think I could bear it if you –"

"Then I won't," Steve promised. "Just... _let_ me do this," he said, and leaned back in. The sound of the zipper was unnaturally loud in the silence between them, filled Bucky's ears until he could hear nothing else. Cool air kissed his bare skin for the briefest of moments, then Steve's lips were there, whisper-soft and twice as deadly, sliding down with confident assurance.

Bucky pressed his hands against the wall, sucked in a sharp breath, and tried not to move. This wasn't for _him_. This was for Steve's benefit, because Steve had _asked_ , and for Steve, he'd do anything. Anything at all. And no, he didn't deserve this, but he wasn't strong enough to resist it, either. He didn't know of anyone who would be strong enough to resist this.

Steve's mouth was warm and wet, even better than Bucky's memories. _это было прекрасным._ Bucky gasped as Steve licked at the head, then swallowed him all the way to the crisp, wiry hairs at his groin. He carefully trailed metal fingers along Steve's scalp, through fine hair, tried desperately not to think about how vulnerable Steve was like this, how easily he could crush Steve's larynx or his skull. 

And the fact that Steve _knew_ he had these terrible, unspeakable thoughts in his head, knew all about them, had studied his file, knew what he was capable of and what he'd done, and trusted him, had laid himself open and bare...

Bucky knew six languages fluently, and could get by in at least five more. But right now, he couldn't find the words in any of them. He'd crossed and re-crossed so many lines that it felt like time was looping back on itself, present and past melding together in a kaleidoscope of color and need. 

But right now, he didn't care.

Like everything else they'd ever done, there was a cadence to the way Steve moved and the way Bucky responded, a tempo perfected over countless sleepless nights, countless stolen moments. A dance where neither one led, a fight where there was no victor or loser, just an endless series of interlocking steps, fluid and forever, a secret language all their own. He sank into the rhythm, gave himself over completely to Steve, let him take the lead the way he'd always done.

Steve took him deep, stretched his lips obscene and wide around Bucky's cock, his tongue curling along the underside as he wrapped two snug fingers around the base to match every reverential, slow slide. Bucky lost the battle with himself to keep still, canted his hips to match Steve's movements, luxuriated and lost himself in Steve's brand of worship. This was sacrament and scripture, a private religion with the two of them as the only acolytes, and each slide of Steve's lips was another benediction, a forgiveness he'd never deserve. 

He wasn't going to last. "Steve..." His voice broke. He tugged at Steve's hair, a warning, but Steve ignored him, twisted his fist as he slid his lips down, and looked up, eyes bright with longing and need and something deeper that Bucky didn't have the right to name.

Then Steve's tongue flickered along the slit, and Bucky's knees crumbled, his vision whited out, and the roar in his ears became an earthquake blocking out all sound and light. He was unmoored, lost, floating, with only Steve's hands on his hips to anchor him to the present.

He came back to himself slowly, felt the moisture on his cheeks. He managed one unsteady breath, then another, swallowed back the sob threatening to erupt from his throat.

"Why?" 

"Because I needed to do it," Steve told him, quiet and sure, as he slid back up Bucky's body, peppered small kisses along his jaw. "You were always there for me. Always. And then, the one time you needed me most –"

"You got it all wrong." How could Steve ever think he'd failed Bucky in any way? That he needed to atone or pay penance for _anything_ where Bucky was concerned. If he'd known that's what this was, he'd have tried harder to stop Steve from doing it. "I was the one who let you down, not the other way around. Maybe if I'd been more like you, the Russians wouldn't have been able to warp me the way they did –"

Steve huffed out a small laugh against Bucky's lips. "Geez, listen to us. We'll start drowning in our own guilt at the rate we're going. Lemme keep it simple. I _wanted_ to do it. I missed sucking you off. Simple as that, okay?"

Bucky thumbed over the hollow of Steve's throat, felt the jump of his pulse under his fingers. It would be so easy to puncture his trachea... Even with Steve's heightened reflexes, he'd never be able to stop it in time.

He tamped down the impulse, grasped on to the one lifeline he had left.

" _You_ got no reason to feel guilt, Steve. None."

"And neither do you," Steve said, then kissed him again, insistent and sure and hot enough to scorch the earth around them. He could feel how hard Steve was, and suddenly, giving back, making sure Steve knew just how grateful he was, how much he wanted Steve, wanted _this_ , was the most important thing in the world.

Bucky reversed their positions, pinned Steve against the wall, as he slanted his mouth over Steve's again and again, ravenous for more. Every carefully erected wall he'd put up to protect everyone around him, protect himself, came crashing to the ground, turned into fine dust with every shift of Steve's body against his. It wasn't enough. He needed skin.

He finally yanked Steve's shirt off, tossed it aside, and raked hot eyes along Steve's chest, from the wide slope of his shoulders, to the dogtags hanging from a chain around his neck and showcasing his pecs, down to the taper of Steve's waist and hips. "God, Steve..."

Once again, words failed him.

"Your turn," Steve said, and jerked at Bucky's shirt. It joined Steve's on the floor, and Bucky immediately fumbled at Steve's zipper, impatient to get at the bare flesh underneath. "Here," Steve breathed, "let me –" and finished the job himself, pushed his jeans and briefs down over his hips, his cock bobbing free, thick and hard and already leaking precome. Bucky's mouth watered at the sight. It had been far too long.

He wasted no time wrapping his metal hand around Steve's length, and stroking up, carefully watching Steve's face for any sign of discomfit. "Is this –?" 

"It's fine, I swear, just, God, _move_ ," Steve groaned, and bit at Bucky's lower lip on the next kiss. Bucky didn't even make an attempt at teasing or going slow – they were both too far gone for that. He set a fast, hard rhythm, spurred on by the way Steve moved with him and the hot, desperate noises Steve kept making in the back of his throat. Everything about this was at once familiar and foreign, from every hitch of Steve's breath, to the way he bucked and moaned when Bucky flicked his wrist just right. 

He'd been right here, just like this, so many times in the past, when he'd still been young and innocent in all of the ways that mattered. Had been here so many times in his head in the last few lonely months, too terrified to give voice to the thoughts just in case it was another one of the Red Room's tricks. But nothing, not his memories or his imagination, could compare with the reality of Steve leaning heavily against him with every twist, eyes closed, lips reddened, cheeks flushed.

He would raze entire civilizations for this. He would lay waste to entire worlds, would re-write history in blood and gristle, anything to keep that look on Steve's face. Anything to keep Steve focused on him, falling apart in his arms, trusting that Bucky would be by his side all the way down.

" _Ya ne zasluzhivayu tebya. Ya ne zasluzhivayu etogo_ ," he murmured, breathed the words like a brand across Steve's lips as Steve jerked, then came, sticky and wet, across Bucky's hand. He didn't merit this trust or this man, but he'd destroy anyone who dared to try to keep Steve from him now. 

Steve's laugh was high, breathless, warm as it ghosted across Bucky's neck. "Well, that was worth waiting seventy years for."

"I can do better," Bucky promised, awkwardly patting Steve's back with his real hand. His entire body felt about as stable as a three-legged table. He swiped his metal hand across his jeans, winced at the mess, but he wasn't ready to move just yet. "Just...gimme a few."

"Yeah, I know," Steve replied, and rested his forehead against Bucky's, that same fond tone in his voice. "I remember."

It was easy – maybe too easy – to slip back into their old teasing ways. "Well, maybe I've learned some new tricks over the years."

Steve just smiled. "What makes you think you're the only one who has?"

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, then his gaze flickered down to the dogtags resting against Steve's skin. The retort withered as his thoughts stuttered, his brain snared on the name etched in the metal. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. 

"Are those –?"

Steve followed Bucky's gaze, and he lifted his shoulders in the most minute of shrugs. "Yeah. I've, uh, been wearing them since I woke up."

If Bucky had another ten lifetimes to try to prove himself worthy of Steve, it wouldn't be enough. 

"Jesus, Steve..."

Steve peered at him through partially lowered lashes. There was a faint flush on his cheeks that had nothing to do with what they'd just been doing. "Yeah, I know, I'm a sentimental sap, what can I say."

"Yeah, you're something, alright." Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead. Oddly, the act felt more intimate than Steve's mouth on his cock. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not giving up on me. I owe..." There were no words for what he owed Steve. "Even when I didn't know myself, you still –"

"Hey, you'd've done the same thing for me," Steve said, laying a gentle hand on Bucky's cheek. "All I did was point you back to the real you. You were the one who took that control and did all the hard work."

Control. Such a small word to encompass so much. "You know, it's weird. In some way, I think I know what you must've felt back when we were growing up, when everyone was trying to bully you around, tell you what to do. But you never gave in. No matter what, you never let the bastards beat you down."

Steve nudged at Bucky's shoulder with his own. "Because I always had you by my side."

"Nah, I think you'd have still survived without me. You were destined for greatness."

"Only because I had you as an example," Steve said, and nuzzled Bucky's jaw. "The important thing is we survived."

Bucky let the truth of Steve's words resonate through him, through the darkest crevasses of his soul. Maybe they'd never be whole again (Bucky especially), maybe they'd always have nightmares and scars both on the surface and deep underneath, but maybe it was better now that they were both damaged. Because now they knew what it took to carry on – two scrappy Brooklyn kids who'd lived through so much more than they'd ever thought, and had endured against the odds. They'd gone through the crucible, and made it to the other side.

"I kept trying. To get back here," he added, at Steve's questioning look. "When I was controlled by the Russians, I mean. Kept trying to get back to New York, to you, get back to myself... That's why they had to keep me in stasis between missions." 

"I know." Steve laid a hand over Bucky's heart, then slid his fingers up to trace the faded white scars along Bucky's sides and shoulder. "I'm here now, okay. We both are."

True north. That's what Steve had always been for him. What he would always be. The only compass Bucky had never needed. 

Bucky fingered the dogtags – _his_ dogtags, warmed by Steve's flesh, warmed by Steve's faith – and his throat closed. "I don't deserve –"

"Yes, you do. We _both_ do." Steve leaned in, brushed another kiss across Bucky's lips. "And whatever I have to do, however long it takes me, I'll make you believe it."

Yeah, Steve was still Steve alright. Stupid and stubborn and filled with a light that shone so bright he was in a constellation all his own. Steve's soul, still untarnished after everything he'd been through, had always been the most beautiful thing about him. "I don't think you've got that long, buddy." 

"For you, Buck, I've got eternity, and nowhere else to be and nothing else I'd rather do."

Bucky looked around the foyer, then quirked an eyebrow Steve's way. "Well, I dunno about you, but I think maybe we could move this to a bed. You _do_ have a bed in this joint, right?"

Steve smiled that beautiful, wide grin, and raked sharp teeth across Bucky's shoulder. "Why, you angling for an invite to sleep over?"

Yeah, he was still a sucker for those baby blues and that smile (among other things.) "Hey, you're the one that wanted the feeding and caring of me. If you don't think you can handle it..."

Steve scoffed. "Did SHIELD hit you with another stupid stick while they had you on lockdown or something?"

"Stupid's your job, remember. I'm the one they sent in to clean up your messes while you were playing super hero."

"I do look better in tights than you," Steve agreed, amiable and light. 

Bucky let his gaze drop, then linger, on bare flesh. He wanted to lay Steve out and take his time this go 'round, relearn every gorgeous inch of him. Time, never a luxury where they were concerned, suddenly stretched before him, infinitely abundant. "Right now, I think you'd look better in nothing. Or maybe wearing me as a blanket."

"You do say the sweetest things."

"Does that mean I'm staying?" He'd meant for the question as a tease, but somehow, it came out far too serious.

Steve curled a warm, firm hand around Bucky's nape, and pulled him so close Bucky could see the dark rings of cobalt around Steve's irises. "I let you go once. And it was the biggest mistake of my life. If you try to leave now, it'll be with me at your side or not at all."

Maybe he really was as stupid as Steve claimed, but he still had to try one last time to save Steve from himself, no matter how half-hearted the attempt. "You sure you don't wanna find yourself a nice girl, settle down, have a few super kids? There's gotta be someone in this century like Peggy."

"They definitely don't make 'em like Peggy these days," Steve replied, giving Bucky a look like he knew exactly what Bucky was trying to do and was indulging him. "Besides, maybe I don't want nice, you ever think about that. I mean, something's gotta explain why I keep getting drawn back to you."

Bucky knew Steve meant it as a joke, but still, he couldn't help but take it seriously. "It's not like I'm some misunderstood kid from the wrong side of the tracks, Steve. I'm the monster under the bed the nuns used to warn us about back at the orphanage."

"I'm not afraid of the dark, Buck. And I'm not afraid of you, either." 

And, looking at Steve, Bucky finally allowed himself to believe that maybe he could do this. That Steve could be the one to help fight the ghosts and quiet the screams, that maybe they could come through the fire and forge something stronger together. "I still have nightmares."

Steve shrugged. "So do I. We'll help each other get through 'em."

"Doc says I may never get back all my memories."

"Then we'll make new ones." Steve pushed at Bucky's metal shoulder. "Stop being a jerk and say yes already. We both know you don't wanna go anywhere."

"I really wasn't kidding about a bed –"

" _Buck._ "

At Steve's stern look of disapproval, Bucky's grin only widened. A surge of happiness, light and wild and free, bubbled to the surface. Here was everything Bucky ever wanted, and everything he knew he'd spend a lifetime trying to deserve. 

"Seems right now like we've got seventy years of lost time to make up for. And someone's gotta keep an eye on you to make sure you don't do something dumber than usual."

"Sounds to me like you're volunteering yourself there, Sergeant."

"Sounds to me like a yes there, Captain."

Steve smiled against Bucky's lips. "Good. Now shut up and kiss me again."

It was another hour before they finally made it to Steve's bed.

***

**Author's Note:**

> The Chinese translation of this fic can be found [here](http://www.mtslash.com/thread-128996-1-1.html).
> 
> Thanks to Jo for the insight and beta, and for listening to me babble about Bucky and Steve on the drive from Orlando to Melbourne Beach. :D
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
